Who's Sorry Now? Read online

  “This poisoning business doesn’t feel political to me—the victims are much too young. Why does one murder? For money. Love. Revenge. Maybe Trix killed whatshername in a jealous rage.” Addie paused. “And Tom Bickley, too, just because. He might have seen something he shouldn’t.”

  “Now, now, I won’t rule it out, but that would be too easy, hardly requiring my help at all. And she wasn’t at the Savoy tonight, was she?”

  “I have no idea. She could have been—the place was jammed.” Addie might not have even recognized her. The girl could have worn a wig or something. Trix had seemed rather sweet, though. It would be a shame if she really were a murderess, but Addie had reason to know people were often not what they seemed.

  “Who do you know who is unhappy with his current status in life?” Rupert waggled a dark eyebrow at her. “And I don’t mean me.”

  “You can’t accuse Prince Andrei!”

  “Oh, can’t I? He’s got some nerve, Barney Google with the goo-goo-googley eyes. Kissing you like that in front of God and Beckett! Thinks he’s the world’s greatest lover, just like the song.”

  Addie laughed, then covered her mouth in case Beckett was hovering. “His eyes are not googley. They’re green.” An unusual pale green, like gooseberries. Sinfully long eyelashes too. Addie couldn’t help but notice. Didn’t some men have all the luck in the eyelash department? Rupert, Mr. Hunter…

  “I saw the way he looked at you all night, like he wanted to eat you right up but was missing his silver spoon.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m too old for him!” She’d seen the unwelcome wrinkles as she wiped off the cold cream not two minutes ago.

  “He doesn’t think so. Probably knows you’re a rich widow, too. I bet he keeps a list of possible conquests in his sock drawer and plans accordingly.”

  “That’s enough, Rupert. The poor man has lost his home. His family. His fortune. Of course he’s not happy! But why would he want to kill random young British people?”

  “Who knows? Russians are madmen. Everyone knows that. They won’t be satisfied until rivers of blood flow through Piccadilly. Damned Bolsheviks.”

  Addie shivered. “That’s quite enough. I have no real interest in international affairs.”

  “Nor I. My expectations couldn’t be lower with that bunch at Whitehall.”

  This was an unfamiliar side to her late husband. If Rupert had lived, would he have sought a career in government? As a war hero, he would have probably garnered many votes, especially now that some women had suffrage. He could be irresistible.

  Would he have curtailed his playboy ways for the greater good? She supposed anything was possible.

  “I really am tired. Could you go wherever it is you go and leave me in peace?”

  “If you insist. But tomorrow, we must have a little chat. I’m looking forward to getting out and about again.”

  Addie tossed her tissues in the trash. “What do you mean?”

  “Why, we’ll go out together in the evenings and sleuth. I’m dreadfully sorry I can’t lead you around on the dance floor as we used to—I do miss dancing.”

  “That does not sound like a good idea to me. I can’t have you muttering at my side all night—I’ll go insane.”

  Some might say she was there already.

  “I shall be discreet, I promise. A second pair of eyes should be welcome, what? And I have the advantage of being able to eavesdrop. Nobody can see me but you, though I’m working on that.”

  “Lucky me,” Addie mumbled. She rose from her dressing table. “Good night, Rupert.”

  “Good night, my dear. Sweet dreams.” She blinked, and he was gone.

  Squelching the instinct to shake her curtains or check in the closet, she put on the silk pajamas that Beckett had laid out for her, brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and climbed into her bed. Tomorrow she would go to Scotland Yard and see if she could persuade Detective Inspector Devenand Hunter to accept her help.

  If he wouldn’t, why, she would just act alone. Or as alone as one could be with a ghost in tow.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday mid-morning

  Bob knocked on the office door, his cheeks pink. “Guv, you have a visitor. A lady. I mean, a real lady. It’s Lady Adelaide Compton herself.”

  “Tell her to go home,” Dev snapped. She was the very last person he needed to see today. The reports on his desk threatened to avalanche, and he had interviews to conduct later. Lady Adelaide was a delicious distraction he could not afford.

  “I told her you was too busy and that she’d need to make an appointment, but she wouldn’t budge. She’s as stubborn as my Francie.”

  As Francie was renowned for her stubbornness, this said a lot. Dev knew Lady Adelaide’s sister was on the mend; he’d spoken to her first thing this morning over her breakfast tray of decidedly unappetizing mush in hospital. Lady Cecilia had been unable to recollect anything useful which might add to the case, and was anxious to go to the country.

  That was good news. The Merrill sisters could decamp to the Cotswolds and leave him alone to do his job. He’d been nearly speechless last night when Lady Adelaide offered to help in the investigation.

  Over his dead body. He wasn’t taking any more chances. If they hadn’t been interrupted by that nurse, he would have given her a piece of his mind, what was left of it. He’d nearly bitten his tongue clean through.

  Damn it.

  “All right, show her in. But in five minutes, come in to tell me the Commissioner is on the line.”

  “Right-o.”

  Dev didn’t ask Bob to lie for him often, but in this instance, it was self-preservation. He didn’t trust himself. All Lady Adelaide had to do was bat her eyelashes behind her tortoise shell spectacles, and Dev was very much afraid she’d lure them both into peril.

  She was looking more rested this morning, in a powder blue lightweight wool suit trimmed in blonde mink. A matching hat was perched upon her golden head. The calendar might say it was spring, but it felt more like winter. Today was damp and cold, a miserable day to match his mood.

  Dev swore softly to himself. This could not possibly go well unless he threw a rug over her to stop him from being blinded by her beauty.

  “Good morning, Inspector. I’ve just come from seeing Cee. She’s to be discharged this afternoon. She told me you’d already been in to talk to her.”

  “Yes. I’m very busy. What can I do for you, Lady Adelaide?” He hoped he sounded as grouchy as he felt, and he did not invite her to sit down. The sooner she left, the better.

  She didn’t seem to notice his rudeness. “I’m sending her to Compton Chase with Beckett on the evening train, so I’ll be free to assist you in the investigation,” she said brightly.

  Christ and Krishna. “As I told you last night—this morning—while I appreciate your offer, you are to stay away. The police have everything in hand.”

  Lady Adelaide smiled. “You can’t keep me home of an evening, Inspector. What if I want to go dancing at the Thieves’ Den? I’m applying for membership, you know.”

  Dev raked a hand through his hair, struggling with his temper. “I think that’s very unwise. That sort of place shouldn’t appeal to you.”

  “Well, it appealed to poor Thomas Bickley and Penelope Hardinge, and that was their undoing. Someone needs to observe what’s going on.”

  He bit back an oath. How did she find out about the Hardinge girl? “You can’t look in on all the nightclubs in London,” Dev reasoned.

  “Of course not. But two deaths have already occurred at the Thieves’ Den. I think that’s the obvious place to start.”

  “What can you do that the police can’t?” Dev asked, knowing very well the answer she would give.

  “I’m part of that social world, at least tangentially. I may be a bit older, but it makes sense for me to g
o to a place like the Thieves’ Den and kick up my heels now that I’m back in Town. You might call me a wicked widow. No one need know I’m cooperating with the police.”

  “You are not cooperating with the police!” Dev growled. And she was the least wicked of anyone he’d ever met, including his own mother.

  She smiled. “Not yet, anyway. But you can’t stop me.”

  “No, damn it, I can’t! You’re a grown, independent woman. But use your head, Lady Adelaide. Your sister could have died if not for your prompt intervention. Is that the fate you want for yourself? Who will look out for you?” He’d stick out like a sore thumb in such places, and anyhow, the handful of suspects already knew who he was.

  No one would question Lady Adelaide Compton’s presence, however—as a wealthy widow and marquess’ daughter, she could do as she pleased. She could go slumming every night and twice on Sunday and no one would have the nerve to criticize her.

  “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  As careful as they both had been when that murderer pointed a gun to her head last August? Dev still had nightmares. He couldn’t count the number of nights he’d woken up in a cold sweat.

  She took a step closer to his desk. “I presume you’re working on a list of who was present at both the Savoy and the Thieves’ Den when the poisonings happened.”

  Dev slapped a hand down on a folder. “Yes, I’m working on it. And no, you’re not going to see it.” There were a surprising number of young people who were at both places on the three nights in question. Dev was finding it tedious to interview all of them—most did not take the questioning seriously. In fact, they seemed incapable of taking anything seriously beyond their next drink or drug or themed party. Too young for the war, they were old enough to suffer its dismal consequences. Any bit of fun was seized upon, from dressing like babies with booze in their bottles to midnight scavenger hunts.

  “It would be useful so I could focus my attention and narrow it on the likely villains.”

  She was like a terrier with a cornered rat. As the rat, Dev sighed.

  “Fine. I have a few more people to see this afternoon. When I finish, I’ll let you know.”

  The smile she gifted him with was radiance itself. It was all he could do not to smile back at her.

  “Excellent! I won’t keep you.”

  There was a knock on the door. Dev was now sorry he’d made arrangements to be interrupted.

  “Sorry, guv. The commissioner is on the line for you,” Bob said, blushing furiously. Honest as the day is long was old Bob. Francie would know the second he fibbed.

  “Is he now? Please tell him I’ll return his call in a few minutes.”

  “But—”

  “That will be all, thank you.”

  Scratching his head, Bob left. Dev would make it up to him later.

  “You really needn’t delay your phone call,” Lady Adelaide said. “I was just leaving.”

  “Stay for a bit. We didn’t have much time last night to, um, catch up.” Dev wondered if he sounded desperate to keep her in his office. She was safe for the time being and lovely to look at.

  Lady Adelaide dropped into the hardwood chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs. Dev tried hard not to notice her skirt head north.

  “Well, you know I went to New York with Mama and Cee. It was amusing for a time.”

  “Bright lights? Broadway?”

  “That and more. There are quite a few British people living there that Mama knows, but we met a load of Americans too. We were quite spoiled with invitations. But after a while, I guess you could say I got homesick.”

  “Which is why I don’t understand your aversion to going to Compton Chase now.”

  “I want to! If only to see my dog, who probably won’t recognize me. But this poisoning business is more important, don’t you think?” She looked at him, her expression serious.

  “It is, but it’s not your responsibility.”

  “How can you say that? It’s up to everyone to watch out for their neighbors. If you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t be a policeman.”

  He hadn’t given his motivation much thought lately—he’d been too busy to think. Dev, like the rest of his colleagues, had been preoccupied with the all-female Forty Dollies gang, whose specialties were shoplifting, theft, and blackmail. They were causing a stir all across England, looting stores and homes and very much enjoying the profits. They rivaled the Bright Young People for their evening antics, too. Dev wondered how many of those glamorous girls were on the Thieves’ Den’s membership roster. He’d have to speak to Freddy Rinaldi again.

  That was another reason to worry about Lady Adelaide’s safety. Were the Forty Dollies branching out into murder? Dev supposed it was possible. They’d been at the heart of London crime for decades, but had only infiltrated the popular imagination recently through the tabloids.

  But what would their motivation be? What did they have to gain? The victims had not been stripped of their jewels or wallets, something those brazen young women were experts at. They stuffed everything that wasn’t nailed down underneath their clothes in special pockets, thus growing in girth by the time they were done. Most of them came from the Elephant and Castle neighborhood, where they were in league with the local male criminals.

  “I appreciate your confidence in my character,” Dev replied. “I hope it’s not misplaced.”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t always a good judge of character. I like to think I’m improving.”

  Did she mean her late husband? For all that he’d been a famous war hero, there were glaring lapses of character afterward. If Dev were married to Lady Adelaide, he couldn’t imagine ever breaking his wedding vows. He would honor and cherish her—

  Ha. As if that were ever possible. Their worlds were much too far apart, no matter how much he was smitten.

  And he wasn’t the only one. “How is your friend Lord Waring?” The pompous arse.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t been in touch. I only got home Thursday. Gracious, a lot has happened since.” She rose, and Dev reluctantly followed. “If I’m to turn into a night owl, I’d better get Cee sorted and take a nap. You will get that list to me?”

  “I’ll deliver it myself. Shall we say tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock, or is that too early?” Lady Adelaide didn’t strike him as the type of woman who lounged in bed until noon, but he reminded himself again that he really didn’t know her.

  And wasn’t apt to.

  Chapter Nine

  Tuesday morning

  The flat was quiet without Beckett’s cheerful presence. She usually hummed along to the gramophone or wireless as she went about her duties, but Addie was in no singing mood.

  She’d had a difficult telephone conversation with her mother yesterday afternoon trying to explain Cee’s “accident” without alarming her too much. Pressure as only Lady Broughton could apply had been placed on her to return home with Cee on the evening train, but Addie had not succumbed. Her mother was dropping her redecorating venture for the time being and headed to Compton Chase to nurse her youngest. Addie had warned her staff to be on the lookout, and had a feeling bonuses would be required.

  She’d helped Beckett pack up Cee’s things as her sister supervised from a chair, wan and listless. Clearly Cee understood just how close a call she’d had. Addie promised to return to Compton Chase as soon as her “pressing business” in Town was finished, not meeting Cee’s eyes at the lie.

  It hadn’t helped that Prince Andrei had turned up at the cocktail hour, his arms full of red roses. Ostensibly they were for Cee, but Addie couldn’t help reliving that shocking stolen kiss. She’d been so flustered at his arrival Cee was bound to be suspicious that she was about to carry on an affair with the Russian prince.

  Which she most definitely was not.

  Addie had deputized him to escort Cee and Becket
t to the train station, which left her with a flat full of flowers and a guilty conscience. The scent throughout the rooms was even more intoxicating this morning, and Addie wondered where the man got the money to be so extravagant. Sponging off his relatives was no way to conduct his current life.

  Addie had managed to dress herself without Beckett’s help in a sober gray shift trimmed with white ribbon and swallow most of a cup of tea. Then she laid out a variety of treats in case Inspector Hunter had time for a biscuit or some pound cake. She expected him to be prompt, but the doorbell rang at nine thirty-three. Willing her blushing cheeks to cool, she opened the door.

  “Lucas!’ His name came out as a croak, but her old childhood friend Viscount Waring didn’t seem to notice. She was enveloped in a rough hug, her nose rubbing against the fine wool of his tattersall suit. He’d have a lipstick mark on his chest, but it wasn’t really her fault. If she’d had her wits about her, she’d have managed to escape his unwelcome embrace, just as her mother had taught her. Fainting, feinting, it was all the same. A girl had to be prepared.

  “Your mother rang me up last night, and I decided to take the first train. You can’t stay away from trouble, can you? Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you so!”

  Addie knew she was expected to return the sentiment, but the words got caught in her throat. Gently, she untangled herself and took a step backward. “Wh-what a surprise,” she stuttered.

  “I made a pact with myself to wait for you to summon me, but your mama seems to think you are hiding something and sent me to winkle it out.”

  “Does she? How absurd!” Addie had not revealed her plan to help the police to anyone. Was Lady Broughton consulting a psychic like Gerald Durant, or becoming one herself? Her mother’s perspicacity could be a fearsome thing. Poor Cee was going to have to live with it for the next few days.

  “She couldn’t understand why you changed your mind about staying in London. She said originally you were awfully keen to go home to Compton Chase after the trip.”

  “Yes, yes, I was.” Addie realized they were still standing in the doorway, where they might be discovered by any of her upstairs neighbors.